


Mox

by Sporadic_fics



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 06:31:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16592642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sporadic_fics/pseuds/Sporadic_fics
Summary: Where Mox is in need of help and a local Cafe owner helps.Three part series showing their journey together.





	1. Chapter 1

The café was closed and you were cleaning the counter in the kitchen when you heard a tremendous crash and a yelp. It wasn’t unusual for loud noises, that caused your skin to crawl with fear, to echo through the night, as it was a rough area but something about that yelp made your stomach turn. You grabbed one of the knives off of the knife block as you travelled through the kitchen to the back door so you could investigate the noise.

You peeked through the door to see a figure huddled next to one of the dumpsters, the light just caught them to highlight some blood on their jeans and hand, so you stepped back into the confines of your café to put the knife down. After a few deep breaths to calm your anxiety, you walked to the door to see how you could help.

The figure had moved so they were sat on the floor, curled as tight as possible, and short little huffs were coming out of them. You had started moving towards the figure slowly, making sure you wouldn’t scare them when the figure’s head shot up and hand grasped the wall to drag themself up. The light caught them, they were covered of blood and they swayed. Swayed so bad that they started to fall to the floor, luckily, you were able to help catch them.

You soothed them with soft noises and brushed their hair back so they could see you better, “Hey, hey, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to bring you inside and patch you up.” You carefully went into a standing position and walked towards the door. The walk to a comfortable seat felt like it took forever for you, with the weight of the stranger pressing you down, so you could only imagine what it was like for them.

“What’s your name?”

“Mox.” Mox was sat down and clutching at his stomach when you brought the first aid kit. It was a big first aid kit and his mind spun with the possibilities of what was in there; were there any fancy needles? He had wanted a kit for years, it saved him from using (and losing) and a shirt to stop any bleeding. Over time he had stolen odd bandages and plasters from friends who had patched him up. They came in handy and he always had a few of the plasters stuck in his back pocket.

“That’s a nice name. Mox” You hummed, nodded and applied hand sanitiser to your hands in thought, his name just seemed right to you.

“Hey Mox, can you take off your shirt and any other clothes that are covering any wounds?” Your words caused him to hesitate, however, dutifully he took his leather jacket and shirt off. After toeing his shoes off he popped the buttons of his jeans and started grunting in pain as he tried to stand so he could take them off. Quickly you helped him back down into the seat.

“I’ll have to cut them off Mox, I think they’re too ruined to salvage anyway.” Mox bit his lip, the jeans were his second to last pair and the other pair were threadbare so he tried to do the math in his head. He had a lot of bills to pay and owed Callihan a chunk of money from him paying Mox’s rent last month. If he won a few matches then he would be able to buy a pair of jeans without worrying for money so he nodded at you.

The material of the jeans sat in between the blades of the scissors and just before you pressed the blades to meet each other you looked up at him reassuringly. His leg looked a lot worse than it actually was, there were several gashes that weren’t too deep and there were only a few sprinklings of glass, which you managed to collect with tweezers. The leg muscles twitched as you cleaned the wound and applied some ointment, not a word came out of Mox

His stomach seemed to be the worst and you knew that Mox knew as he had applied some plasters that barely covered the cuts. You gently peeled them off to fully assess the damage and ended up smiling when you saw that the plasters had Disney characters on them. There were small shards of glass here and there which you easily got and then cleaned his stomach.  You reapplied some new, bigger plasters to him but hesitated with one of the cuts. It seemed to bleed a bit more than the others and you new he would need stitches.

You went through the med kit to sort out a needle and thread for him and paused when you turned to him. He let out a groan at the needle but nodded at you all the same to let you do your job. You gently stroked the area around the wound before you started the careful job of sewing him up. You would have offered to take his to the hospital but you had seen him before in the street with his friend one night, shouting that he couldn’t go to the hospital, no matter how bad, so you respected it.

“I’m almost done sweetheart.” Every time he had hissed or grunted you stroked at an area of skin that had no damage, it managed to help him relax just a little.

“I yanked the glass out of my leg earlier,” he was flushed as he slowly uncurled his hands to show you the damage the glass had done. A soft little ‘oh’ escaped your lips as you gently grasped the worst one so you could start cleaning it. His hands were littered with small little scars and were slightly calloused. His hands had barely any damage but something about the way the blood collected and dripped slowly, ever so slowly down his wrist made your heart twist. Luckily there was no glass in either of his hands.

The med kit was put away and you walked to him with a bottle of water and a sandwich. The glass had a straw in it so he could take sips as the bottle laid on the table next to him and you ripped the sandwich in half. You moved one half to his chapped lips so he could eat- there was no way you were letting his hands grab anything. He ate the sandwich slowly and then rested his head against your hand, it was clear that he was exhausted.

“Let’s get you home big fella,” You quickly put his shirt and jacket back on before putting your arm around his back so his arm laid over your shoulders and lifted him, his cut up jeans fell to the floor leaving him in boxers. You heaved him outside, locked the café up and brought him to your car. You had laid him in the back so he could adjust accordingly an threw a jacket over his groin to give him some privacy.

He told you his address and it turned out that he lived fairly close to the café. He was quiet the entire time, the only sound in the car was him tapping his fingers on the seat belt.

“That’s me.” His hand came between the two front seats and shakily pointed to a run down apartment complex. You parked outside the complex, making sure there were no parking signs and helped Mox out of the car.

You tried to wrap your jacket around his waist to give him some decency, it didn’t cover much and part of the material caught his cut up thighs so he pulled it off and put it back on the seat. The apartment complex was a dull grey with graffiti all over the walls (inside and outside) which made you a little weary at first but then you noticed some of the guys that were regulars at the café. It was Drew Gulak and Callihan, they were wrestlers who often came in straight after a match to get a bottle of water and go almost straight away.

Mox tensed slightly as the two turned to you and grinned. The grins fell from their faces when they took in Mox’s appearance; slightly bloody, bruised and half naked. Drew jabbed at the elevator button as Callihan rushed to the other side of Mox to help lift his weight. Maybe it was because Mox was with someone he trusted but he slumped down, letting the exhaustion take him. Callihan kept asking Mox questions whilst you were in the elevator, perhaps to keep him awake, and all Mox would do is grunt.

Drew wrestled with the door that was slightly warped for a moment or two before it opened, making an awful creaking noise. He nodded to you with a small smile before leaving you with Callihan and Mox. The weight of Mox was wearing away at your shoulder so you couldn’t wait to lay him down on the bed that was situated in the middle of the floor. He wasn’t necessarily heavy, it was just the fact that it was his dead weight on you.

A hiss escaped him as Callihan took him from you to place him in the bed. You felt like it was time for you to go as Callihan shifted awkwardly. Placing the bottle of water down over a $20 note you walked to the door.

“It’s for the pants I ripped off of you.” You grinned as Callihan choked on a laugh and Mox smirked sleepily.

It was over a week before you saw Mox again. The week was spent worrying about him, worrying about whether his injuries had got infected or if he was even more injured. Callihan and Drew hadn’t come to the café for bottles of water either which made you even more anxious.

It had been a fairly busy day and there were still a few customers even though you should have closed almost half an hour ago but you didn’t mind as you weren’t tired and kept you thinking on things other than Mox. Well that is what you thought. A tall figure came up to the counter and drummed a familiar beat. For a moment time froze as memories from the car ride with Mox gently came to you. You looked up to see him staring at you, his mouth twitching slightly. He didn’t look as tired as he did when you last saw him. In fact, he looked like he hadn’t been hurt just over a week ago. One thing that you did notice was how tall he was, he stood straighter than he did when you brought him home (still a little slouched but not as much).

“Hi.” You blinked at him.

“Hey, um, look I have no money but I need food. Do you think you will have any scraps when you are closed?” His voice was hushed as he fidgeted and bit his lip. This man just kept on breaking your heart so you nodded. The nod you gave caused him to grin at you, tapping his fingers even faster on the counter top.

“Hey guys, I really need to close up now.” You called to the remaining people in the café, it was a small group of men who looked up at the clock, eyes widening, and they hurried out of the café, their apologies small and rushed.

“Okay Mox, anything you want you can have. Almost all of the leftover goes to the local shelter anyway.” Your arm swept around the café and his eyes went huge, like a little kid on Christmas day. He pointed to one of sandwiches that were on the other side of the glass and just as you went to grab it for him, his finger pointed at another sandwich. It happened three more times before he spoke up.

“‘M sorry, there’s so many to choose from.” There weren’t actually that many to choose from but you smiled at him, reassurance radiated off of you. He kept looking between two sandwiches so you grabbed them both and put them on a plate for him.

“What drink?” He had been staring at the plate, about to lunge for it like a cat after prey, when you asked him the question. He was paused comically with his hands (now healed) mere inches away from the plate. His eyes slowly slid to yours.

“A drink too?” You tried so hard to not let your jaw drop, you couldn’t just give food and no drink, it just wasn’t right.

“Coffee. Standard.” He sat on the stool and dug into one of the sandwiches whilst you made the coffee. He ate slow, savouring the taste but when you turned to give him the coffee he sped up, eyes flickering to the clock.

“Take as long as you need.” It was clear that Mox was a bundle of nervous energy because even when he relaxed a little bit, he was still tense. It was as if he was ready to run at any second.

Just before he left you gave him a bag that had sandwiches and bottles of water in it. The food and water should last him a good day or so. As you thrust the bag into his arms he gawked at you and stuttered out how he couldn’t take it, he just couldn’t but you locked his arms around the bag and shooed him out of the café.

He came back the next night with not a lot of change and placed it gently in your hand before rushing out of the place, leaving you to stare at the space had stood dumbfounded. This became a pattern, small amounts of change every night, until you grabbed his wrist and told him to sit down. You had a small jar under the counter that held all of the small change he had given you- it was two dollars and sixty-two cents.

“Mox, you know you don’t have to pay for this food right?”

“It ain’t right me taking your food. I have to pay you some way.” He looked at you firmly, he’d made up his mind in paying you back.

“I don’t need it though. I want you to have the food. If you can pay then great but if you can’t then I don’t mind at all.” Your voice was soft and his resolve crumbled, his brow furrowed and eyes watered slightly.

You slid him the coffee you had made for him earlier. He came almost at the same time every night and you always had a coffee ready but before you could give it him he always ran off. Well not tonight. You had also made him a warm meal every night which would be left for you to eat but tonight you pulled the warm plate out of the oven and gave it him. It was a burger and fries.

The food seemed to break the dam as he ducked his head and wiped at his eyes harshly. His sobs, that he tried so desperately to hide, echoed through the café.

“I’m so hungry. All the time,”

“All the damn time.” He whispered that bit softly and you placed your hand over his that was gripping the fork so hard that his knuckles were white. Your other hand gently stroked his cheeks, ridding him of the tears.

“No more Mox, you come here whenever you want. There will always be food and drink for you here. Always.”

He nuzzled into your hand for a second before digging in.


	2. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the series.

As the nights drew colder, Mox would walk you home after you had given him food at the cafe. It wasn’t a far walk, so you didn’t take your car to work when it wasn’t needed, yet Mox insisted on walking you home. At first, you would walk side by side and mostly it would be in silence. When Mox would talk, he would be quiet and only speak where there was a lot of light and no chances of being ambushed. Sometimes he would go an alternate route if he saw people he deemed shady. You didn’t mind as his presence was a nice comfort and whilst he was with you, he couldn’t really get into trouble.

 

Mox only wore a thin leather jacket and you often saw him shiver, his breath being highlighted by the icy night, so you would wrap your arms around one of his and pressed into his side. At first it was awkward and he would tense but he soon relaxed. Well, he relaxed as much as Mox could.

 

He wouldn’t just walk you home, he would walk you up the stairs of your complex, watched you walk through the door and only left when he heard the click of the lock. You would look out of the peephole as he would nod in satisfaction of the lock and walk away.

 

He came in one afternoon, slightly shaken, wearing the same clothes as the night before and sat on the stool in silence. He didn’t speak at all. Not even when you confronted him with an ’are you alright?’, which only caused a nod and a small grunt. He stayed there until you closed shop, drinking away at coffee the entire time. 

 

When you walked home with him that night, he pulled you a little tighter to his left side, had his fist clenched, and continuously looked in each and every direction. Anxiety wrapped around your as she laid your head on his chest for a moment. His heartbeat was fast.

 

Instead of letting him leave to go home you dragged him inside. He was still tense and you massaged his shoulders after he sat down and shrugged his jacket off. A little moan escaped him and his head lolled forwards slightly. You wondered what was wrong, what made him so quiet and withdrawn.

 

“Talk to me.”

 

He shook his head and let another rough moan.

 

“Can’t.” You had pressed a little harder into his shoulder, working at a knot and his moan turned into a little whimper.

 

“You can Mox. I won’t push you though,” You carried on pressing down on his shoulders and neck for a little while, enjoying the noises he was making. There was cold radiating off of him. He desperately needed a new coat as the months got colder and you wondered what he would think if you bought him one. Would he be insulted?

 

“Go take a shower, I’ll wash your clothes. You’re chilled to the bone.” Before he could protest you pulled him up with both hands and dragged him to the bathroom, laughing when he pretended to dig his heels into the floor and quietly called for help as he was ‘getting kidnapped’. He had a mischievous glint in his eye as he followed you.

 

He stopped in shock, hands still holding yours and his mouth hung open, when he saw what was in the bathroom. The walls were pristine, the cupboards hung on the wall correctly, there were no cracks in the mirror and not only was there a shower but there was a bath too. In his bathroom, the one he shared with Callihan, had blood stains on the wall where they had stumbled to the sink, one of the cupboard doors kept falling off and there was just a shower head in a cubicle that was full of cracks.

 

He felt slightly overwhelmed. Fingertips stroked the top of the bath and he looked at you with a raised eyebrow, he hadn’t had a nice long bath in such a long time so when you pushed the plug into the bath and started running the water, he almost swooned.

 

“I have a lot of bath stuff. Bath bombs, bubble bath, etc. So help yourself. Just leave your clothes outside the door and I will come and clean them.” You went to step outside the bathroom to let him get into the bath when he stopped you. He had picked up one of the small bath fizzers and sniffed at it curiously before hastily putting it down, obviously not liking the smell.

 

“How do I know which one to use?” He had picked up a bottle of bath salts and read the label. Each luxury had an odd title and odd smell, how would he know what to use? So you walked up to him and explained, with a shrug, that it was just preference.

 

“Which one is your second favourite?” You picked it up. Why would he care about a second favorite? It was a small mango bath bomb, it always reminded you of sunny days and got you out of the winter slump.

 

“Just throw it in.” With that you closed the door and went to collect a pair of baggy sweatpants and an oversized hoodie your brother had left when he last visited. You replaced his dirty clothes with the clean and walked into the kitchen. The jeans and shirt went into the washer and you studied the leather belt that you had pulled out of the loops. It was a little worn and you could only imagine the stories it could tell.

 

After an hour of him being in the bath you grew a little concerned. You couldn’t blame him for staying in the bath for a while, nine times out of ten you stayed in there too long, getting lost in the warmth. You knocked on the door and there were no answer so you knocked again. And again. After getting no answer you opened the door and peeked in. He was asleep. His head tilted back on the tub, with his left arm over the side and his right arm draped over his chest. What made you smile was his little snores.

 

You stroked his cheek and jaw and subconsciously, he pressed into you and let out a long, quiet sigh.

 

“Mox,” He jolted awake, even though you had called his name softly, and looked around quickly. His chest raised rapidly and his eyes were tightly closed: he was trying to steady his breathing.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” With a nod pushed his cheek back into your hand and looked at you silently, the panic in his eyes gradually starting to fade. 

 

“I brought some clean clothes for you to wear,” you had gone to collect them but he gripped your hand, pressed a little bit harder with his cheek and pressed his lips to your wrist. It wasn’t a kiss, just a ghosting of lips and you stayed there for several minutes before carefully pulling away to give him his clothes and a towel.

 

“I’m going to get dressed into my nightwear, I’ll meet you on the couch.”

 

You pressed your forehead against the bedroom door after you had changed into your night shorts and top. The little gesture of his lips across your wrist made you shiver in delight and heat invaded your core. It had been a long time since you had been touched intimately and it wasn’t something you really expected from Mox. After a few deep breaths you opened the door and made your way to him. He was sat on the couch, elbows on his knees and head in hand. You noticed that his eyes were drooping slightly so you lent down before him.

 

“Tired, huh?” A sleepy nod answered you.

 

“Come on. You’re staying the night.” A hand to his.

 

Your bedroom was plain, all for the bedding, which was a deep red. The plainness of the bedroom always helped you unwind from the busy days in the cafe. Mox noticed that everything about you and your home radiated calm and most days, he needed calm. Almost every day he was in the ring, fighting with crazy weapons and always in pain. Sometimes, before he even got into the ring he would be in pain due to hunger. Ever since you came into his life, his hunger (at least for food) had subsided. It was nice to just walk into a room and feel safe for once in his life.

 

The bed was harder than his at home, still soft but had more support. His bed was second hand when he first got it and he had had it for years and years so the springs had gone and there were more blood stains than the original pattern. In that moment of realising that you were better than him, he went to bolt. Yet before he could get his footing right to run out of the door, you pushed gently on his shoulder so he was on his back. Pulling at the covers (that were folded at the bottom of the bed) so you could lay to sleep, you turned to him for a second and tucked the blanket around him, making sure he was covered. You were a little bit of a bedding thief in your sleep.

 

“Stay. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.” With a yawn you turned away and almost instantly fell asleep. Mox, however, did not fall asleep instantly. No, he tossed and turned on top of the covers. His eyes were burning but it was a strange thing sleeping (or at least trying to sleep) next to someone. It had been years since he had slept with anyone in the same bed. If he fucked anyone it tended to be behind bars and then he left soon after. He never wanted to get attached but then he saw you and your little ‘oh’ when you saw the state of his hands and he just knew he was done for.

 

Eventually, he fell asleep, with his back turned to you. So he wouldn’t fall for you anymore than he already had.

 

If Mox didn’t stay after he had walked you home, he would often come knocking around three am. Every time you had awoken from your slumber you would be incredibly annoyed but when he showed up with bruises around his face and neck, you would soften and take him in. Most of the time he would just fall into your embrace, breathing heavily. At first, the embraces would just be you holding him in your arms but he slowly started putting his arms around you and for some reason, it didn’t give you a good feeling. Perhaps it was because he would tremble.

 

In time, you gave him a key so he could just come into the house whenever he pleased. Even though you were more than happy to give him the key, he was hesitant to use it. He would rather you open the door and tell him whether or not he should come in. When he did use the key, he would just sleep on the couch, his jacket wrapped around him as a blanket. He would be out of the house before you awoke.

 

It was only when you woke up to get a drink, did you see him on the couch. Curled up as tightly as possible. With a shake of your head, you woke him up and led him to your bed all the while scolding him for lying on such an uncomfortable couch with no blanket. 

 

Night after night he laid with you in bed, distance between you like usual, but you felt his resolve crack. Quite literally. You were half dozed when you heard a small ‘fuck it’ and he turned towards you, putting an arm around your waist to pull you close. After that, all the nights he spent with you he would wait for you to drift off into the land of sleep and then ever so carefully he would pull you to him. A contented sigh was always your answer.

 

You had shown Mox the scar on your kneecap (that you had got from falling off of your bike when you were little) and he had caressed the scar before pulling your leg over his waist so you straddled him. Looking down at him you could see all of his scars and bruises on his naked torso and you frowned. No one as pretty as him should have so many scars or bruises. Without thinking properly you swooped down a kiss to each of his scars, paying extra attention to his bruises. It was a surprise to him and he let out a little startled gasp, weaving his fingers into your locks.

 

“You’ve been so jumpy lately. What’s going on?” Your words were whispered against his stomach (which was now filling out nicely thanks to all the food you gave him) but you knew he heard you with how he started tapping his fingers against you scalp.

 

“Mox,” You pushed slightly, you were always one for boundaries but for the past few weeks he had been jumpy, always looking over his shoulder and was quite clingy. Not that you minded him being clingy.

 

“Some guys have been threatening me after my matches.” This made your kisses stop and you looked at him, horror on your face. 

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” It was a hiss, a very worried hiss. Moving his hands to your cheeks, he pulled you up to his face, noses touching.

 

“Didn’t want to see your worried face,” He pressed his nose a little closer to yours.

 

“I want you staying here. Permanently. We have security here, you’ll be safe.” He would be lying if he said his heart didn’t break a little with your insistence, at the slight hysteria in your voice. The only other person who remotely cared about him was Callihan and he had moved out weeks ago to have his own place.

 

“You pretty much live here anyway.” A smile, big and bright graced your face. You really did love having him around. His silence was comforting and when he did speak, he had a tendency of making you laugh and feel yourself. You never felt self-conscious around him and it was nice.

 

“I’ll think about it,” he combed his fingers through your hair again, smiling when he saw your face light up.

 

He awoke to you shuffling about, putting a clean button up on and already in a pair of pants. The shirt was halfway buttoned up and his sleepy eyes widened as the bra peeked out of the shirt. Your head was down, looking at the buttons as you made up your shirt, it was only Mox’s cough that made your eyes move away. He was staring at you, a grin on his face.

 

“Putting on a show doll?” His voice was gruff and he sat up against the headboard, eyes raking up and down and your body. It made your body heat up even more than it had the night before. You went to button the shirt up even quicker when he lunged for your hands. It was a firm grasp but it didn’t hurt. Your eyes landed on his hands before slowly flicking up to his eyes. His eyes had this little sparkle, like when you had dragged him to the bathroom but this time there was this sort of warmth that had you lost in them.

 

His lips landed on your chest and he kissed all the exposed skin, every now and then his tongue would flick under the material of the bra. It was the most erotic thing to ever happen to you. He was a little bit rough and a little bit messy but it made it even better. His hands undid all of your work, unbuttoning the buttons of your shirt and pants. You expected him to pull your shirt off but his hands had curled around the material as he kissed down to your naval. You let out a little giggle when he playfully bit at your soft stomach. He did it again, a little harder, pulling at your skin.

 

He pulled you so your knees were spread slightly on the bed and rolled your pants down. His teeth moved to your panties, gently pulling them away and letting them snap back onto you before licking your clit. Your hands slid through his hair to not only pull him closer to you but to try and gain balance. He moved your panties to the side, sliding a finger gently into you. Gasps turned into little moans and whines as he sped up and then inserted another finger. Hips were bucking and the orgasm that claimed you made you fall a little, he was there to catch you by the hips, head placed on your stomach. 

 

Your body shuddered as he lazily circled your sensitive clit with his thumb. It was a little too much so you tried to pull away but his grip tightened.

 

“Mox. Please.” Your pleas were soft and desperate as you bucked even harder against him. Your eyes were screwed shut and you felt your stomach coil as you were about to release again.

 

“It’s Jon. Call me Jon.” With that he pushed his fingers into you again, making you come with a scream of his name.  _ Jon _ . 

 

Mox, no, Jon, collected his belongings (a medium sized backpack full of clothes) the next day and moved in with the promise of paying as much rent as he could. You responded with a shake of the head and an ‘all I need from you in payment is kisses’. He had kissed you greedily and murmured an ‘always’. 

 

It was always like that. Kisses here and there and he always had to touch you. Whether it was holding your hips and lifting you up to help you reach something or just rubbing his thumb against your knuckles, he had to touch you. 

 

The pattern stayed the same until one day he had left some open mail on the table before heading out to a match. You had gone home early due to it being a dead night at the cafe, texting Jon that you had set off and then texting him to let him know that you were home.

 

You weren’t one to read others mail, it was bad manners but then you saw the logo on it. WWE. Your eyes quickly scanned over the letter in curiosity and then your heart sank a little as the situation dawned on you. He’d been accepted by WWE and would be situated in Florida. That was so far away, hours away by flight. With your work hours you knew it would be almost impossible for the pair of you to see each other and gods, it hurt to think about.

 

The door opened when you were serving out the Lasagna, you had timed it just right. Jon was all smiles and thrumming with energy, he had won the match tonight then. He quickly washed his hands before sitting across from you, making sure to press a kiss to your cheek on his way. You had wanted to wait until the end of the meal to ask him about the letter but the words spilled out of your mouth before you could stop them.

 

“Were you planning on telling me about WWE?” A chunk of lasagna was paused halfway to his lips and he shook his head, no. The hurt spread even more and you held onto your glass of water a little tighter than you should have.

 

“So you were going to just up and leave?” 

 

“What? No! I was going to turn it down.” You were speechless, he was going to turn it down? After all those nights of him whispering tales about who he would fight and why in the WWE and he was going to turn it down. So you shook your head.

 

“Like hell you are. You are going,” You stood and paced up and down, your hand was pinched at your nose.

 

“This is your dream and I will be damned if you throw it away.”

 

“You realise I will barely see you right, the hours are insane and I will be in Florida. Hell, until I get a few really good paychecks, I won’t be able to see you at all.” You knew then and there what you had to do and it made your skin crawl and your heart ache. You were holding him back so you scrambled for words.

 

“Why are you concerned about whether you will see me or not?” He shot up from his chair and pushed his hands in his hair. 

 

“You are only here because you weren’t safe. I wasn’t having your potential death on my conscience.” Your words were so cruel, your stomach tightened and you wanted to throw up. This wasn’t you. 

 

“Just like the rest!” It was a yell and you flinched, he didn’t see it though. He was too busy collecting his things from the bedroom and throwing them into a bag. He only looked at you when he had thrown open the door to the stairs, the WWE letter in his hand.

 

“Just like the goddamn rest.” With that he slammed the door and stormed down the stairs. When you stopped hearing his footsteps, your fell to the floor and sobbed. The guilt of what you had said eating at you and the thought of not seeing him again immediately made you feel lonely. 

 


	3. Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third and final part. Will it be a happy ending? Or a sad ending? Who knows

It had been over seven years since you last saw Jon. Seven long, painful years. You moved on in every way you possibly could. You moved away and opened up a restaurant, you cut all ties from the other wrestlers who would regularly go to the cafe and you even started to date others. The restaurant was high end and got good reviews from top chefs but your love for it was slowly dwindling, you had been doing too much- being the owner, one of the chefs and a waiter was taking its toll but it helped distract you from the empty void in your chest. **  
**

It was going to be an extremely busy night, a Mr Mcmahon had called and booked the entire restaurant out. The restaurant was spotless and your top chefs were in the kitchen but you couldn’t help but have a niggle of anxiety, like it always did. Through time, the anxiety had gone down to almost nothing but it was still an annoyance.

One of the staff members brought the large group through to the tables whilst you were collecting the menus to give out. You waited for everyone to be sat down before you and a few members of your staff started giving them out. A lot of the customers sat down and looked vaguely familiar but you couldn’t quite place where you had seen them.

“Dean, stop tapping.” A deep voice voice rumbled near you. The voice had no annoyance in it, just a calm warning, as if he was reminding the person that they were actually tapping.

“Sorry man, the song has a good beat.” You knew that voice, it was the voice that haunts your dreams and nightmares. It had changed a little over the years, had gotten a little deeper, but you couldn’t mistake that voice. You would have turned to him but you couldn’t bare to see the hurt or disappointment in his face. Not again. So you carried on with your job, going and looking anywhere but him.

You avoiding him didn’t last long as you had to hand out drinks and one of the trays you were given were for his table. On your way to him you noticed he had changed quite drastically. His hair was a lot shorter and he was no longer so skinny like he used to be, he had bulging muscles now. He looked healthier and that made you smile. It was true, he was better off without you. His chin was resting on one of his hands as he looked at one of the men who was talking. The man had long, dark hair tied into a bun and was wearing a suit. It was quite a drastic change to Jon, but the duo worked. They looked like they could take on the world and no one could stop them.

“A coffee,” a man with black glasses on and brown hair (also tied in a bun) put up his hand up slightly, eyes lighting up as the delicious smell of coffee drifted to him. That is when Jon looked at you, as you were putting the coffee down, and you could feel the heated look. His conversation with the man stopped abruptly and your hands had a slight little shake as you picked up a glass of water. The man in the suit looked at him quizzically before turning to you.

“That’s mine, the beer is Dean’s.” He had a polite smile and nudged Dean slightly to get him out of his stunned silence. Before you put the beer down, his chair was pushed back and he was storming out of the restaurant. A few curious people glanced your way but then looked away as they noticed who had stormed out.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what's going on with him,” It was the man in the suit again, he looked apologetic and was about to stand up to go after Jon. No, it was Dean now. You placed a hand on his shoulder.

“We, uh, we’re old friends. I’ll go talk to him,” A reassuring smile in place you placed the tray under your arm, pinning it to your hip.

“Call over one of my staff if you need anything.” With that you walked out into the night to find Dean. He was pacing in front of the glass window, fists clenched.

“Dean, huh? I like that name” He swung around to face you, eyes wild and pointed accusingly at you. You expected him to yell, you really did, but instead he dropped his hand and laughed. The laugh didn’t sound like a laugh though. It sounded harsh and bitter and it made you want to curl up and die.

“You don’t get to turn up, looking all pretty, to break my heart again.” Hurt seeped through his voice and it made you feel even worse. “Thing is Doll, you can’t do that. I ain’t Jon and I sure as hell ain’t Mox anymore,” He was muttering more to himself than to you.

“Well could you pass along a message? Tell them I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I handled things but I couldn’t bare the thought of them losing out on their dream because of me.” You went to walk back into the restaurant and blinked the tears away best you could.

“You don’t get to do this,” he exhaled. “You are not allowed to cry when you were the one that pushed me away. Hell you didn’t even push me away did you? I was never in your heart for you to do so. But for me? You were everything. You had my heart and stomped on it.” Now he was angry. You wanted him to be angry, because as much as it hurt you, it was never as bad as what you did to him. His words sunk in, you had really mattered to him.

“I truly am sorry. I thought what I did was the best thing for you,” Your eyes stung with tears and you choked out the words so you cleared your throat and became as professional as you could be.

“I’m going to go in now and run my restaurant,” You had to turn away and walk quickly into the restaurant before he heard your small, strangled sob.

The rest of the night continued as if you had never met each other. It was professional and he didn’t spare you a single glance. His friend in the suit, however, continuously flicked his eyes between you and Dean. You learnt that his name was Ro after you heard Dean snap ‘I’m fine Ro’ as he sat down.

Dean. It was odd and when you were on your own in the back putting a crate of wine away you mouthed it several times. It wasn’t that different from Jon you supposed, it did have a vowel and an ‘n’ in it after all. After mouthing it a few more times, liking the way it felt, you nodded. It suited him. Just like Mox. Just like Jon.

It was funny that you were thinking so hard about his name when you knew that after this, you wouldn’t see him again. When you had been been looking at him (as discreetly as possible, even though Ro had noticed on more than one occasion and had smirked slightly) you tried to memorise as much of him as you could.

You wished you had never said those words to him, not only so you hadn’t hurt but because you missed him. You missed the way he would moan in delight at your food. You missed the way he would kiss you. Each kiss was different, one could be soft and tender while another could be passionate. One kiss could be on your lips, another could be on your nose. Or your neck. Or your hands. You missed the way he would hold you in the night, his arm over your waist and his hand would be entwined with yours. You also missed the way he would casually pick you up and spin you around until you dizzily landed onto the bed, dragging him with you, laughing hysterically.

You also missed the odd things. The way he would steal a bath bomb (out of the collection he bought you for your birthday) every now and then, only to fall asleep within minutes. The way he would watch you cooking food and would try and write down what you would do to then surprise you with his version of it a few nights later. He wasn’t the best at cooking so every time you cooked at home you would get him involved. He always got you to check if the food was properly cooked, not trusting or believing in himself.

All the customers and staff had gone and you were doing the last of the clearing up. Well, you were trying to, but you had to sit down because, quite frankly you were exhausted. You knew that if you kept it up that you would get seriously ill but you couldn’t afford to sell up. You drank the dregs of the vodka that you had poured. You only allowed yourself the one small drink.

“You got any scraps for a lonely mutt?” You froze, had you got so tired you had started hearing things? A steady hand gripped your chin, moving your head to look at him. You couldn’t help it, you felt like you were drowning, so you let the tears fall.

“I have missed you so much.” There were a lot of occasions where you had got so drunk you started seeing him, where you had begged and pleaded for him to come back and forgive you. He would just stare and yell that you were just like the rest of them. The last words he said to you.

“I’ve missed you too.” Your eyes widened a little at the revelation, not believing him. Why would he miss you after what you did?

“I went back for you, but you weren't there. You’d moved. Here I’m guessing.”

“After everything I said? After I hurt you?” He nodded and you flew into his arms and just sobbed. His hand cupped the back of your neck and he hummed.

“Please forgive me?” Your voice had never been so small.

“Always,” and with that he pressed his lips to your forehead, cheek and lips. Murmuring always to each kiss. Your phone buzzed. It was the alarm that notified you to get home in order to get six hours sleep. You cried a little harder, everything felt like it was on top of you. It was so suffocating. He turned the alarm off.

“I am so tired Dean. So fucking tired.”

“I know, I know. I saw you stumble and look like you were going to collapse. How long have you been pushing yourself?”

“Since I came here. Tried to forget what I said to you.” Your head was resting on his chest and your eyes were closing slightly. His heartbeat lulling you into a sleep. So he pocketed your phone and lifted you into his arms. He noticed that you felt lighter than you did when he used to pick you up and carry you home when you had pushed yourself too far. It really felt like a lifetime away.

He knocked the lights off, locked the door with keys that were attached to your pocket and the pressed the button on the door that let the metal shutters descend. The only thing about the routine that was different to the cafe was that the button was red and slightly lower down. Probably so you didn’t have to stand on your tiptoes to press the button.

You were almost asleep when he placed you in the passenger seat of his and Ro’s rental.

“We are going to my hotel and god dammit, you’re going to sleep in and not go to work tomorrow. You need a break.” His voice was firm, incredibly firm when he told you and all you could do was sleepily nod. The car ride was silent, apart from your tiniest little snores and mumbles. His mind drifted back to all the times you two would be in bed watching a film and you would fall asleep within the first twenty minutes. He would pull you to his chest, stroking and playing with your hair as he carried on with the film.

He carried you into the hotel, ignoring all the staring from the people loitering in the lobby and going to the elevator. Kevin Owen’s was there looking fairly amused at the small bundle in Dean’s arms. Dean snarled and bit the air at him, for a moment going back to being old Mox. A look of shock filled both of their expressions and Kevin full out laughed.

“She’s the cafe girl, right? I thought she looked familiar in the restaurant.” Kevin had been in your cafe a dozen times, he remembered you. He just liked antagonising Dean.

Dean just walked out of the elevator, hugging you tighter to his chest when he heard even more of Kevin’s snickering.

Roman had told Dean to get another room and talk to you. It was neutral ground. He could walk away and go to the room he shared with Roman and you could easily go home or stay in the room. The room was standard for a hotel and for the past seven years each time he opened the room, it disappointed him. You weren’t in the bed waiting for him. Having his own house was the worst, at least in hotels he could share rooms with people.

He took off your shoes and belt and then untucked your shirt to try and make the sleep you would get the most comfortable. Back when you two were together he would happily undress you and redress you into your nightwear whilst you were asleep as you had set boundaries, allowing him to get you comfortable, but this was different. This was new and he felt like he didn’t know you anymore, yet, the love he had for you never left.

You snuggled into the blankets whilst he got undressed. He was only in his boxers but he sure as hell wasn’t going to wear his pants that dug in at the hips.

Like the first time he had ever laid with you to sleep, he found it difficult. Back then it was because he was awkward and didn’t really like touch but now it was because he just wanted to look at you, afraid that when he woke up you’d be gone. He pressed close to you like old times and only fell asleep when he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer with one thought in his head, please don’t be gone when I wake.

He woke up with an elbow to his face, he knew for sure that you hadn’t left. You were too busy wriggling about, tugging at your shirt. The collar was pulled tight to your neck and you couldn’t breathe. His hand hands quickly pulled at your shirt, ripping the buttons in the process. Gasps of breath filled the air as you looked at Dean, everything coming back to you. The last you remembered was going into his car and then falling asleep so you looked around and took note of how you were in a hotel.

Your shirt was ruined with how he had ripped at it hastily so you yanked it off and pulled at your bra as it was stabbing you in the ribs. Dean, noticing your discomfort walked to his suitcase and grabbed you a tank top to put. When you went to change into the tank, Dean turned away. Usually when you got dressed he would look, however, that was seven years ago and times had changed.

The tank was big and showed part of your breasts at the side but you didn’t mind, he’d seen it all before. You noticed your phone on the bedside table and checked the time, it was three am. With a groan you put the phone down and fell back into the pillow.

“We really need to talk don’t we?” Your head tilted towards him and you bit your lip.

“I know we need to but I really want to do something else.” Dean had a hand placed over his face, his eyes peeked through his fingers as he looked at you with a shy grin. You raised an eyebrow at him. You were both on your side, staring at each other. His touch was cautious, so cautious you barely felt his thumb tracing the bridge of your nose and then your lips. You caught his thumb between your lips and bit down, watching his eyes blow with lust. He brought your face towards him and kissed you. It was slow at first but then got faster, more passionate and it wasn’t just lust, it was heartache and a promise of never again.

“God, I have missed you so much.” Dean groaned against you as he rolled on top of you. His kisses moved from your lips to your neck, arms to the palms of your hands and fingers (which incited giggles from you).

You noticed how his torso had a few more, very minute, scars. They deserved attention, you decided and ran your tongue over them.

“You carry that on and this is going to go a lot further than either of us want tonight,” it was a warning and you paused, confused.

“Don’t get me wrong, I want to be in you and everything, but tonight I just want to hold you and kiss you.” Opening and closing your mouth several times trying to respond in some way, you just nodded and curled into him as he stroked your hair.

Unsurprisingly, you both fell asleep pretty quickly.

When the morning came you wake up with a heavy feeling on your chest and hips. All you could do is lift your head to look at whatever was pinning you down. It was Dean, he was sprawled over you; head on your chest, arms on either side of you, his torso was on a part of your hip and his legs were tangled between your own.

A shiver trembled through him as sharp nails scratched at his scalp in a slow circle and he woke up, to then nuzzle into your chest.

“Doll,” his voice was a mumble as he had the material of his tank in his teeth, pulling it to the side to expose more of your breast so he could lick and kiss at it. Your nails dug into his scalp a little harder when his lips wrapped around your nipple, your hips would have bucked but with his weight pinning you, all you could do was lay there.  

Whimpers, so many whimpers, as he suckled on you and traced his fingers across your chest so he could pull and tease at the other nipple. Your noises were soft in the air and you couldn’t help but love how he took his time with you. Like he was savouring you. His hand wrapped around yours to quickly pull it to his mouth, leaving soft kisses around your pulse and palm.

With a deep sigh the scent of mangoes drifted to him with the memories of you and him curled up together in the bath. Ever since he had left to go to WWE, the scent of mangoes (or anything remotely like them) made his stomach turn but now, well, now he wanted to be wrapped in that scent for the rest of his life. He wanted to be wrapped around you for the rest of his life.

Even though you were quite sure that you could let him kiss and tease your breasts forever, you pulled him up to catch his lips. You decided that this was where you were meant to be, with him in your arms. He pulled away to look down at you, your hand cupping his cheek, and he gave a shy smile with soft eyes.

Before anything could be said, a shrill alarm cut through the air, startling Dean so much he fell backwards. It was yours to wake you up for work. You turned the alarm off and looked at Dean and then back at the phone. The thought of going to work made you feel sick so before you could stop yourself you messaged one of the higher ups in the restaurant telling them that you were ill and wouldn’t be in. They knew all of the codes and had the keys for the place so it was fine.

You threw the phone to the side and moved so you could straddle Dean (who was still laid on his back). You cupped his face again, it was a nice fair, and his stubble scratched ever so slightly at your palm. His beard was a nice feature, it was new to you but you already loved it. It wasn’t too short and it wasn’t too long; it was perfect. Looking at him really solidified how you felt about him, the feelings you had for him never left, they just dulled with loneliness and guilt.

“This. Us. What’s going to happen now? I can’t lose you again, so tell me now if this isn’t us getting back together or something.” You should have asked the night before but you were so exhausted and so relieved that you would have been happy with any answer. There was only one answer that you wanted and you weren’t sure if you were going to get it. Doubts crawled around in your mind and the thought that some of them could be true really hurt.

“If we get back together we need to figure stuff out. I mean you have a job here and I live in Vegas.”

“I’m going to sell up. I hate it here. So I was thinking of getting a cafe again,” It had been on your mind for a while, the long hours, every day, doing several jobs and getting barely any sleep was really getting to you. The only reason you hadn’t left yet was because you didn’t know where to go.

“So, maybe I could move closer to where you live. We can start again?”

“I’d like that.” Dean pulled you closer to him; his arms around your waist, your head on his chest and you both closed your eyes. Here’s to starting again, you thought as you snuggled down and fell asleep.


End file.
